


The Fugitive

by oldgodbaby



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Other, agender!Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4900732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldgodbaby/pseuds/oldgodbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tattoo Parlour Modern AU, where Anders has an old tattoo he’s not too happy with and Hawke and co. just so happen to love doing cover-up jobs. Anders/agender!Hawke</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fugitive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalgalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/gifts).



The bell above the door of the tattoo parlour gave off a crisp ring for the first time that morning as a man in a white button-down and a tattered black cardigan walked in. His blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that looked incredibly rushed. As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled slowly to the front desk. 

Bethany placed her arms out on the desk and leaned forward, fully prepared to deal with one of those shy, indecisive costumers who were never quite sure what they wanted. 

“How can I help you today, sir?”

“I was told you do cover-ups here,” the man replied in a tone that sounded almost defensive.

He made Bethany feel as if her presence offended. She frowned. No, she must have been imagining it. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. 

“Yes. I-I don’t, since I’m the receptionist, but our artists do. It’s a nice way of transforming a tattoo you hate without getting it removed. And it’s less painful. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I hope so.” The man offered a weak smile, before extending his arm out. “I’m Anders by the way; it’s nice to meet you.”

“Bethany.” She shook his hand. “Um, so what is this tattoo, if you don’t mind me asking? Something you were once proud of but would rather forget, or just a botched up job?”  
Anders fought off what was very likely a sneer.

“I’d rather not talk about it with anyone but the artist fixing it, if that’s okay with you.”

“Wow. Are you _sure_ you don’t just want it removed?”

“No. I would prefer to preserve it, in some form.”

The way Anders spoke made it difficult for Bethany to prod. She was primarily worried it would make him uncomfortable, yet the lingering silence was bothering her. It wasn’t right to simply allow the conversation to die. 

“Well, at any rate, you’ve come to the right place. I’m not sure exactly who’s free at the moment, but each of our artists has their own style. Fenris loves his realism, works a lot in black and grey, while Isabela edges more towards new school and illustrative with a lot of colour and mostly sea and sailor related motifs. Merrill does watercolours, but if you need a mean horror themed tattoo she’s your girl. Finally, Hawke, my sibling, prefers traditional; that’s bold primary colours, clean outlines and motifs that are, you know, traditional; except for the occasional dragon.”

“They all do cover-ups?”

“Yeah,” Bethany said, smiling brightly. “It takes a little more creativity than original works, of course, but hey, you’ve come to the best.”

“Right,” Anders said, seeming to take it all in. 

He looked away from Bethany, turning his head instead to look around rest of the waiting room; the leather couch and armchairs, the glass table, the intricate and varied artwork decorating the walls. Biting her lower lip, Bethany silently hoped that someone, anyone, customer or artist, would walk in before she had to think of another way to break the silence. 

On cue, Isabela opened the door leading in from the back rooms and sauntered over as if she had sensed the tension through the walls of the parlour. She approached Bethany, leaned lightly against her chair and crossed her arms in a similar fashion, while scrutinizing the increasingly awkward man standing before them.

“So what are we looking at, Beth?”

Bethany took a deep breath and grinned up at Isabela as she spoke. 

“This is Anders. He says he has a tattoo he really wants to get rid of, but would prefer to have it transformed rather than completely removed. I get the impression it’s really bad but he hasn’t shown it to me yet.”

Isabella threw her head back and laughed with gusto. 

“Trust me, Anders, was it?”

He nodded silently.

“ _Really bad_ is having the name of someone you had a tumble with once tattooed on your face. If I can’t see it straight away, it’s not _that_ bad.”

“With all due respect, the tattoo is on my skin. I’m the only person in this room who knows what it feels like to have it.”  
Anders’s hands visibly balled into fists as he spoke. 

“Oh, touchy.” Isabela met Bethany’s gaze. “Maybe we should get Fenris on this one.”

The sigh was loud and deliberate. “No, Isabela, we are not doing that. Besides, the customer has to choose. Unfortunately, if I don’t know what we’re working with,” Bethany continued, staring pointedly at Anders, “I cannot recommend anyone.”  
Anders looked down at his feet. He took a few long seconds to build up courage before he spoke. 

“The tattoo is...in a circular shape. Simple, black. I don’t want to lose the...shape completely under a complicated design.”

“Ah, well that would be kitten—”

“Or Hawke,” Bethany said with a shrug. 

“I heard my name being called?”

A head full of messy raven hair poked out from behind the door Isabela had walked through a few moments ago. 

“Yeah, get your ass over here where it’s needed!” Isabela replied. 

“This is Hawke,” Bethany stood and dramatically waved her arms in the general direction of her sibling. “Their nickname is also our family name, but they’re not very forthcoming with their first name to people they don’t know. We’ve all got our quirks,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly at Anders. 

Yet it was likely the subtle expression was lost on him, as he watched Hawke walk up to the front desk. His hands flew out of his jeans pockets, instead, perhaps subconsciously, becoming incredibly busy straightening his cardigan. 

Hawke’s friendly smile softened their tired eyes. They stretched one hand in greeting towards Anders while running the other through their short, thick mass of hair. For a few moments Anders did not register the gesture, being entirely too preoccupied with everything about Hawke’s face, from their lips to their light spattering of stubble, the brown eyes, the long lashes, the strong jaw—

“Earth to Anders! Are you okay in there?” 

Isabela had cupped her hands around her mouth and was shouting directly at him. Hawke was still waiting, but they were now grinning down at the floor.   
A blush spread across Anders’s face with worrying speed. He grabbed the hand in front of him and shook it, perhaps with slightly more force than absolutely necessary. 

“H-hello. I’m Anders.”

“Hawke, a pleasure. Now,” they turned to Bethany, “why am I here?”

“Why am I relaying information about someone standing right in front of you, when he could just tell you himself?”

“Because you’re an amazing receptionist and an even better sister?”

Bethany rolled her eyes.

“He has a tattoo he wants covered up. A circle of some kind.”

Hawke frowned as Bethany continued.

“He will only allow the person working on it to see it, and he wants to maintain the overall shape of the old tattoo, not lose it completely under a new design. Bela and I thought you or Merrill might be best for the job.”

“You thought correctly. Then again, when am I not perfect for the job?” 

“I didn’t say perfect.”

“You meant it.”

The siblings stared each other down, although while Bethany looked slightly annoyed, Hawke seemed to be on the verge of sticking their tongue out at their sibling. 

Anders coughed quietly, causing Hawke to refocus their attention. 

“Okay, so. I am not saying that I am not very good at my job, but the downside of only letting me see your tattoo is that you only get my potential design on it. I can maybe offer   
two or three variations, but I am not a miracle worker. I’m just amazing in every other respect.”

“That’s alright,” Anders replied, trying, and failing, to suppress a chuckle. “I think I trust you.”

“Yes, I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

“By who?” Isabela asked, walking past Hawke and throwing herself down on the sofa. 

“People!” Hawke replied, eyes widening and voice rising an octave. “Anyway,” they resumed their conversation with Anders, “if you would like to follow me.”

They led Anders through the door in the back of the waiting room that led to a fairly narrow hallway. The wall before them was lined with five identical doors. 

“The one on the far right is the bathroom,” Hawke said in a chatty tone, “and the one on the far left is my workshop. It’s how I remembered them when we first set up here, anyway. I still don’t know where the other doors lead.”

Anders laughed and Hawke seemed incredibly pleased with themselves. 

Once inside the so called workshop, Hawke took a seat on their swivel chair and grabbed their sketchbook while Anders perched on the edge of the hydraulic tattoo couch, wringing his hands in his lap. 

“Well, let’s see this _abomination_ , shall we?”

The adjective Hawke had used made Anders flinch. Nonetheless, he slipped the cardigan off his shoulders then slowly unbuttoned his shirt, growing progressively jittery under Hawke’s gaze. Once the shirt was off he stood and silently turned his back to the tattoo artist. 

There, between his shoulder blades, permanently drawn onto his pale skin, was the symbol of the Circle of Magi. In black ink and bold, thick lines, it was unmistakably a brand. Hawke did not possess one themselves but was familiar with the concept. All mages sufficiently unfortunate to have been given up to the templars as children were branded soon after they stepped foot into the Circle. It was mostly redundant, as phylacteries were used to track fugitives down, but it served other purposes. It was an identifier. These mages were owned. They belonged to the Chantry. Hawke’s father had had an identical tattoo and had dedicated a part of his life to protecting Bethany from it; a responsibility that was passed entirely onto Hawke after his death. 

“There are rumours going around in the mage underground that you...are a friend.” Anders now sounded considerably less tentative, his voice taking on a steely quality, “If they were wrong, if I was wrong to trust you then I will leave now. Don’t worry about contacting the templars, this won’t be my first rodeo.”

“No.” Hawke shook their head and began sketching an outline of the tattoo straight away without another word.

“I’m sorry?” Anders turned around, eyes narrowing in disbelief. 

“We could go with cardinal symbols on the outside, could link it nicely to freedom,” they looked up Anders as they finished their sentence. “On the inside, we could maybe try a play on the templar sword, unless you have something else in mind.” 

The fugitive mage blinked, mouth agape, before recomposing himself.

“Could you work a pair of scales into the design?”

“Probably,” Hawke said, scrunching up their nose. 

“For justice,” Anders explained. 

“Oh. Oh! Oh, yes. Consider it done!” 

Anders smiled at an excited Hawke as he watched them move to the table and slouch over their sketchbook, hand moving quickly over paper as they tested out designs. It felt like his first genuine smile in years.


End file.
